stared at him for a second, then shook her head. He was getting headstrong as he raced into his teen years. Just like Maylee had. Just like Maylee was now. Just like you are , Angie thought, but kept it to herself.
"He does have a point, Ms. Land," said Dr. Graham. "If we could isolate your son's immunity, replicate it..."
Angie was impatient, but felt the tightness in her shoulders relax a little. He was right and she knew it. Three years ago, they had discovered Dalton was immune to whatever it was that made the dead walk and eat. Anyone else bitten by a corpse died and got back up. Dalton was the only one Angie had seen survive. The only one anyone had seen survive, as far as she knew.
At first, she'd resolved to keep it to herself. Her first priority was protecting her children. Dalton's immunity would only bring him attention, and attention could be bad. The corpses were dangerous, but so were other people. People who thought they could get something from you were the most dangerous of all. So despite Dalton's protests, she made him swear to keep it a secret.
But as time wore on, Angie began to relent. If there was a way to find out why Dalton had survived, safely and with minimal risk to him, then maybe the tide of dead could be stemmed. Which would ultimately make her children safer. This was her reasoning when she told Dr. Graham the truth. From there, it became clear to the others that Dalton was of great interest to the only doctor in town. There were whispers and rumors. Angie finally told everyone in an impromptu town meeting one afternoon. Everyone seemed satisfied with the explanation. A few looked hopeful that Dalton could lead to a vaccine, but none of them ever looked at Dalton—or her—the same way again.
Howling wind outside rattled the building, loud and forceful. Another storm.
She looked at Dr. Graham and sighed. "Fine, but how long has it been? How many months now? And what exactly have you learned?"
Dr. Graham thought. "Well, we know your son's blood reacts differently to the saliva of the corpses."
"The saliva my daughter got for you," Angie reminded him. "And I don't want to know how she managed that."
"She probably collected it after killing the thing," said Dr. Graham, thinking. "You see, once the thing was down and its head crushed—"
"Back to the point, doctor."
"Right. When we mix the saliva with anyone else's blood, say yours or mine, it quickly begins to take on the state of the corpses’ blood. It turns almost black in the advanced stages."
Angie understood. She'd seen many a corpse puke or ooze black blood.
"But not Dalton’s blood," said Dr. Graham. " Dalton's blood starts to turn, then somehow reverts to its original state. Almost as if it's rejecting the infection."
"Assuming it is an infection," said Angie.
"It has to be an infection," said Dr. Graham. "It's spread through the saliva to the blood."
"Have you found anything in the corpse saliva? A virus or bacteria of any kind?"
"Well, not as such..."
The wind outside died down. Angie sighed. "Have you found any sort of antibodies in Dalton's blood?"
Dr. Graham swallowed, gesturing around the room. "If I had better equipment..."
"You know, doctor," said Angie. "In the old days, people who called themselves doctors would bleed people for no good reason, assuming it must be doing something."
"Mom," said Dalton. "Come on. We have to keep trying."
Angie looked at him and sighed. She turned back to Dr. Graham. "Are you serious about the equipment?"
"Well,” said Dr. Graham, “more equipment would always be better..."
"What do you need?" she said, shifting her weight on her cane. Her ankle throbbed slightly.
"Oh I doubt we have the type of budget for—"
"In the real world, doctor," said Angie. "What would be some simple things that could help? I have to make a supply run soon anyway. Maybe Old West has scavenged something."
Oh, I see," said Dr. Graham. "Well, a better microscope, something stronger with a fully
"He does have a point, Ms. Land," said Dr. Graham. "If we could isolate your son's immunity, replicate it..."
Angie was impatient, but felt the tightness in her shoulders relax a little. He was right and she knew it. Three years ago, they had discovered Dalton was immune to whatever it was that made the dead walk and eat. Anyone else bitten by a corpse died and got back up. Dalton was the only one Angie had seen survive. The only one anyone had seen survive, as far as she knew.
At first, she'd resolved to keep it to herself. Her first priority was protecting her children. Dalton's immunity would only bring him attention, and attention could be bad. The corpses were dangerous, but so were other people. People who thought they could get something from you were the most dangerous of all. So despite Dalton's protests, she made him swear to keep it a secret.
But as time wore on, Angie began to relent. If there was a way to find out why Dalton had survived, safely and with minimal risk to him, then maybe the tide of dead could be stemmed. Which would ultimately make her children safer. This was her reasoning when she told Dr. Graham the truth. From there, it became clear to the others that Dalton was of great interest to the only doctor in town. There were whispers and rumors. Angie finally told everyone in an impromptu town meeting one afternoon. Everyone seemed satisfied with the explanation. A few looked hopeful that Dalton could lead to a vaccine, but none of them ever looked at Dalton—or her—the same way again.
Howling wind outside rattled the building, loud and forceful. Another storm.
She looked at Dr. Graham and sighed. "Fine, but how long has it been? How many months now? And what exactly have you learned?"
Dr. Graham thought. "Well, we know your son's blood reacts differently to the saliva of the corpses."
"The saliva my daughter got for you," Angie reminded him. "And I don't want to know how she managed that."
"She probably collected it after killing the thing," said Dr. Graham, thinking. "You see, once the thing was down and its head crushed—"
"Back to the point, doctor."
"Right. When we mix the saliva with anyone else's blood, say yours or mine, it quickly begins to take on the state of the corpses’ blood. It turns almost black in the advanced stages."
Angie understood. She'd seen many a corpse puke or ooze black blood.
"But not Dalton’s blood," said Dr. Graham. " Dalton's blood starts to turn, then somehow reverts to its original state. Almost as if it's rejecting the infection."
"Assuming it is an infection," said Angie.
"It has to be an infection," said Dr. Graham. "It's spread through the saliva to the blood."
"Have you found anything in the corpse saliva? A virus or bacteria of any kind?"
"Well, not as such..."
The wind outside died down. Angie sighed. "Have you found any sort of antibodies in Dalton's blood?"
Dr. Graham swallowed, gesturing around the room. "If I had better equipment..."
"You know, doctor," said Angie. "In the old days, people who called themselves doctors would bleed people for no good reason, assuming it must be doing something."
"Mom," said Dalton. "Come on. We have to keep trying."
Angie looked at him and sighed. She turned back to Dr. Graham. "Are you serious about the equipment?"
"Well,” said Dr. Graham, “more equipment would always be better..."
"What do you need?" she said, shifting her weight on her cane. Her ankle throbbed slightly.
"Oh I doubt we have the type of budget for—"
"In the real world, doctor," said Angie. "What would be some simple things that could help? I have to make a supply run soon anyway. Maybe Old West has scavenged something."
Oh, I see," said Dr. Graham. "Well, a better microscope, something stronger with a fully
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